


Bonfire Night

by apliddell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bonfire Night, Canon Divergent, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Minor Angst, PTSD, Post S3, Pre-Johnlock, Pre-Slash, john was quite a Guy, let's just pretend s4 never happened, past trauma, post-Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 21:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: What Sherlock is really fleeing is the inside of his own head. John, of course, is right there with him.





	Bonfire Night

“This is very sudden.” From my bed, I watch Sherlock yank a handful of my shirts out of my wardrobe and fling them at the open case lying on the bed next to me.

“That’s me!” he turns to the dresser and digs out some socks and pants. “Spontaneous, dynamic, ever energetic! Anyway, I haven’t been to Paris for reasons of pleasure in,” he pauses to think. “Hmm not since I was twelve. So. A trip.”

“Oh,” I nod. “I see. Well. Mightn’t we have more fun, if we take our time planning it? Maybe we could go next weekend. Instead of tonight.” I reach for the pile of shirts and begin to fold them anyway. Sherlock is the very definition of irresistible force, so I’m sure we’ll end up wherever he wants us.

“No, no,” he shakes his head and turns back to the dresser, though he’s already pulled out enough socks and pants for weeks of travel, let alone a couple of nights for a mini-break. “Got to be tonight. I’ve got the ferry and the hotel sorted already. Just. Leave it to me. Nothing to worry about.” He opens another drawer and begins to extract pyjamas.

“Is this about a case? Because if it is, you might just say so.” Sherlock rather slams the drawer shut and stands still bent over it. I fancy I can see his brain turning through his hair. God, I hope he isn’t getting ready to lie to me. “Just tell me the truth, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sucks in his breath through his nose at that, and answers me very, very quietly. “I don’t like the fires."

I put down the shirt I’m folding. “The fires?”

“The fires,” he repeats. “The bonfires. I don’t like seeing them. I don’t like hearing them. I-” his voice catches just enough so that only I would notice. “I don’t like smelling them. Bad. Bad memories. And there won’t be any avoiding it tomorrow. So. Paris. And I’d like to bring you with me. If you will. If you will do me that favour, John. Please.” Of course. I am such a bloody idiot. I slide off the bed and put my arms around him. He stiffens. “What is this, John? What are you doing?“ I need to hug him more often. I wish it already seemed natural to him.

“Sherlock, I will go anywhere you want me, okay?” Give him a little shake, and he looks at me and nods. “Anything you want, okay? Just. Just tell me. Just be honest. Okay?”

He nods again, slowly, “Yes, John.”

“Anything you want,” I repeat, straightening up. “Two of us against the rest of the world. Yes?”

He smiles with such hesitation that it nearly breaks my heart, “Yes, John.”


End file.
